


Same Coin, Different Sides

by bzarcher



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, F/F, I legit had a dream about this and had to write it, If each chapter is an AU of the other does it count as a story?, Moicy, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Some pregnancy stuff / discussions in the first chapter if that's a dealbreaker for you, minor worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-09
Updated: 2018-08-09
Packaged: 2019-06-24 13:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15631191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bzarcher/pseuds/bzarcher
Summary: Everyone in Overwatch knows that Angela Ziegler is incredibly strict about everyone taking the appropriate suppressants and blockers.Everyone in Talon knows that skipping your dose is a good way to get dragged into Moira's lab for "correction."No one knows how either of them are categorized, but they'd be shocked to learn the truth.Especially if they were to learn what Angela and Moira are to each other.





	1. Not Seeking Relief

Everyone in the recalled Overwatch knew not to ask about it.

Angela was exceptionally strict when it came to making sure everyone was on the proper suppressants or blockers, including herself. Even in the rare periods where she had to go off of them so her body would not overly stress itself, the combination of earrings she wore were an explicit signal.

_Not disclosing, using contraceptives / suppressants, not seeking a partner for relief or bonding._

A very few people who knew her history had theories about what - or who - Dr. Ziegler might have done in the past. Who she might have sought out, once.

Would she still?

Even Lena wasn’t brash enough to ask, and everyone knew who _she_ went looking for when she needed to go into her rut.

All they could do was wonder.

* * *

Angela knew everyone wondered about her, of course. She wasn’t _deaf_ , after all, and people like Jesse and Hana weren’t terribly quiet when they whispered behind her back.

She didn’t answer, of course. But she had _reasons_ for that.

Not the least that despite the risks, she hadn’t actually stopped taking her suppressants in more than five years.

She simply took her expected leave twice a year, often flying back to check on some of the refugee camps and cities she’d worked in with _Médecins Sans Frontières._ They could always use an extra pair of hands, and she appreciated the chance to visit and see her former patients doing well.

This time...this was different.

The MSF camp in Tikrit was closing. The refugee situation there had finally improved to where most had been able to return home and rebuild.

She was happy for them, and glad it was one less part of the world wracked by devastation, but it meant she would be losing an opportunity to visit the nearby Oasis now and then.

Losing the chance to do what she desperately wanted after so long.

So she had left Tikrit after the briefest of visits, traveling to Oasis on a special visa she’d kept in her kit for years but never used.

After the chartered flight had landed, she visited the bathroom just past the arrivals gate.

She settled into a stall and pulled the antagonist capsule from her bag, swallowing it dry so it would hit her empty stomach and be distributed quickly through her bloodstream.

Angela could almost swear she felt a tingle of fever as she left the stall, but it was almost certainly psychosomatic. The hormonal changes would take more time than _that,_ even if her body was working hard to counteract so many years of denying her own biology.

Her reflection certainly didn’t look out of the ordinary. No sheen of sweat, no blown pupils, nothing to give her away.

Angela nodded with satisfaction, then began changing her earrings for the set she normally kept in her office safe.

_Not disclosing, already in a partnership, do not approach._

There was a cab and driver waiting for her outside of baggage claim.

She knew her “host” had already given the driver instructions, and Angela wasn’t surprised to see it was an omnic chauffeur. Why take chances, after all?

When they arrived at a luxury apartment building, the chauffeur removed her single bag from the trunk and offered her a black and gold embossed keycard.

She’d thanked him for his help and offered a tip (which he refused, to her vague chagrin), then let herself into the lobby with a swipe of the card.

The empty lobby had a floor decorated with a beautiful mosaic of tiles, and a bank of elevators along one wall.

The leftmost elevator lit up, the doors opening as she approached, and as soon as she swiped her card on the reader the doors slid shut and the car began to rise towards the top floor.

The entire floor was given over to a single residence, the elevator opening into a tastefully decorated but relatively spartan living room and kitchen.

Her host didn’t entertain a great deal here, and anyone who made it this far knew it.

The only item that seemed out of place was an old brown leather couch, the well oiled upholstery worn buttery soft, and Angela gave a happy sigh as she settled down onto it, kicking off her shoes before she rubbed her aching feet.

_I knew she’d never leave this old thing behind, and a good thing, too._

The couch had been her favorite piece of furniture from the old townhouse in Dublin. A much loved and incredibly comfortable heirloom, where they’d spent hours talking, touching, and…

Angela suddenly felt as if the room had gotten several degrees warmer as she remembered the last thing they’d done on this very couch.

She had come to Dublin in the wake of the Venice debacle, once the hearings, censures, and recriminations had died down.

Moira had been so upset, and rightly so. She’d felt hurt and betrayed, her work taken from her, her trust abused as she was made the scapegoat for everything that had happened.

She hadn’t even wanted to see Angela at first, but she’d been very persistent, and once they’d talked through some of their equally bruised feelings, there had been one thing Angela could give her. One trust that she would not - _could not_ \- ever break.

Her fingers wandered of their own accord to the collar of her blouse, undoing the top buttons until they could stroke the well healed claiming mark at the side of her neck, tracing the little scar that she ordinarily kept concealed with the underglove of her Valkyrie suit or carefully chosen tops.

Angela shivered at the feeling of the bumpy scar tissue under her fingertips,  the memory of receiving it so vivid in her mind. Her eyes slid closed as she let out a little groan of need, and the part of her that would always be a clinician was impressed at how quickly the antagonist had taken effect.

A little gnawing ache was just beginning to make itself known in the pit of her stomach. A hunger she hadn’t felt in some time, but she knew could only be sated by one thing.

_Hot breath against her ear as their bodies pressed together, her hips pinned against the arm of the couch as she tried to roll them. Looking for friction, looking for her to go deeper, looking for_ **_more_** _._

_A soft laugh despite the roughness she’d taken her with. A teasing nip to her shoulder as long fingers squeezed and kneaded her sides._

_“So eager…I thought you wanted us to take our time.”_

_“I swear to God if you don’t knot me soon I will pin you to the floor and do it myself!”_

_“I might enjoy that later, but I suppose it’s best to be done properly, mm?”_

She had started to pinch and tease her breasts through the silk of her top, the nipples growing hard and so, so sensitive.

Angela shuddered as she tried to force herself to have some self control, her hands closing into fists as she put them to her sides.

She’d known it would be intense, after so long on both suppressants and the pill, but hadn’t expected such a rapid onset. Had it only been two hours since she had administered the antagonist? A normal patient wouldn’t show signs of estrus for at least forty-eight.

_A normal patient would be allowing themselves to have a proper cycle at least every six months. _

_Five years,_ she chided herself. _Five long, long years._

It hadn’t been a conscious choice at first. She’d simply been too _busy_ to take a break, and certainly too occupied to sequester herself for several days.

She wouldn’t have sought another partner, which meant it would have taken the better part of a week before she would have been able to return to work safely, and that was unacceptable.

She had nothing against those who did seek anyone available in their time of need, or those who had several regular partners, but it wasn’t how she cared to handle her affairs.

So she had simply kept up her suppressant doses, and prescribed herself a fresh round of birth control. When she’d reached a year, she had considered reaching out to Moira, but the founding of Oasis was consuming her attention, and MSF asked if she could assist with helping the victims of a massive earthquake in Antigua.

Once Angela had realized she could manage on her suppressant dosages, she’d “consulted” by email with her old colleague and they had quickly agreed to maintain their status quo until circumstances allowed them to share a cycle properly again.

And then Moira had joined Talon, and they didn’t speak for more than a year and a half.

Angela had considered taking another partner during that time. She really had. But when she thought about that drive, that wit, that remarkable mind...no. No one else compared, really.

Their ethics might clash on a regular basis, but it did nothing to reduce Angela’s desire to remain mated to Moira O’Deorain.

She forced herself to shake free of her memories and walked from the couch to the kitchen, spotting a note that had been pinned to the refrigerator.

That cramped, narrow handwriting shaped by years of scribbling on lab sheets and workbooks, barely legible without years of practice.

_I’ve timed my dose of antagonist for a half hour after your flight lands. I have business that requires me to remain at the office for the afternoon, but I will be there swiftly once it has concluded._

It never ceased to amuse her how carefully Moira spoke, how she wrote with such deliberate phrasing.

It never ceased to delight her when she could reduce her to guttural exclamations and swearing, the rough Dubliner accent thickening with every word.

With such a short flight Angela didn’t really have to worry about jet lag, but she decided to drink a bit of water to rehydrate before laying down for a brief nap.

She discovered Moira had brought her old bed from Dublin, too.

It _smelled_ like her, of whiskey and sharp smoke, but with an antiseptic sort of tang that must have been from her own cocktail of suppressors and scent blockers.

Angela stripped down ( _oh,_ how good it felt to be naked in this bed again) and settled in for a nap, breathing in the scents of her with a happy sigh.

She did her best to keep her hands from wandering, but the silky sheets felt so cool against her too-warm skin, the little ripples of pleasure as she slid against them just enough to help her enjoy a pleasant dream instead of frantic need.

She didn’t even realize someone had joined her on the bed until she realized the antiseptic tang had gone, replaced with a thick, musky, almost mossy smell. A scent that made the wetness between her legs grow, that made her whole body tingle in need.

“What a lovely present,” Moira purred, her hands rubbing in slow circles on Angela’s back that felt _so good_ . “I hope I haven’t kept you wanting long, _a rúnsearc_.”

“Five _years_ ,” Angela moaned as Moira continued her attentions. “I want more than a back rub, Moira.”

“Oh, so do I, angel.” Moira’s hands were wonderfully strong and sure as she took her by the side and rolled her over, giving her a good look at last.

Her eyes went to Moira’s ears by reflex, and what she saw made her smile.

_Not disclosing, unavailable._

“You took off the suppressant studs,” Angela observed happily.

“So did you,” Moira observed. One of her cyanotic fingers reached out to stroke the shell of her ear, making Angela sigh happily. “Do you wear the partnership ones often?”

“Just for you,” Angela said huskily, and her fingers slid up the sides of the close fitting trousers that Moira wore as part of her Minister’s garb. “ _Always_ for you.”

“I shall have to get a pair myself,” Moira murmured as she drew closer, her cool demeanor breaking with a shudder when Angela cupped the obvious bulge she found at her crotch. “ _Just for you.”_

“Just for me,” Angela repeated as she rose up from the bed, kissing her fiercely. She sighed happily into the kiss as Moira began to knead her backside, pressing into her with an encouraging growl as she tried to figure out how to get the damned ornate robes _off_.

Moira’s chuckle filled her ears, and Angela realized she must have said that out loud.

“Patience, lovely. Patience…” Moira nipped the side of her neck, teasingly close to where she’d claimed her. “Good things come to those who wait.”

Angela shuddered, feeling more and more slickness between her thighs. “I think...we’ve both waited long enough.” The neck of Moira’s robe had opened enough for Angela to see a hint of pink - the edge of her own claiming mark, that she’d left at the peak of her heat as Moira had rutted against her.

She bent in, pushing the fabric aside so she could taste the pale skin, kissing and nipping until she found the scar with her lips and sucked hard, delighting in the way Moira gasped and shook against her.

_“Angela!”_

She gave one last lick over her re-emphasized claim before pushing back just enough to look up into Moira’s eyes, loving the way she’d clearly affected her. “Do you appreciate my position now, Doctor O’Deorain?”

Moira licked her lips, her throat working a moment before she could speak. “I’m beginning to, yes, Doctor Ziegler.”

“Then get your _fucking_ clothes off,” Angela growled as she ground her hips against that nice firm bulge.

“You,” Moira gasped as she thrust back hard, then pushed her down to the bed so she could start tugging herself out of her regalia. “Are the most _aggressive_ Omega I have ever heard of.”

“I certainly am," Angela agreed as she began to tease her breast again. “Particularly when it comes to _you._ ”

Moira finally had her top off, the mark at her neck already a ruddy bruise, looking at her with undisguised lust as she unclasped her belt and started pushing the trousers to the floor. “Ah yes,” she said with a delighted smile. “Lucky me.”

“You…” Angela shuddered as she dipped a finger between her legs. _God_ , she was ready. “You certainly are.”

Moira stopped undressing, standing in her bra, obscenely tented boxers, and socks, looking at her with obvious concern despite her urge. “You know this will not be gentle. Not the first. Not after so long.”

Angela laughed with sharp edged amusement as she stood and crossed the gap, palming Moira’s petite breasts through the plain black sports bra. “Do I look like I want gentle?”

Moira gave a little hiss of pleasure and anticipation, then stepped into her space, filling Angela’s nose with the scent of her rut even as she knew her own pheromones would be overwhelming whatever remnants of Moira’s suppressants that might have lingered in her blood.

“No,” Moira whispered as she pushed, hard, and Angela felt her back hit the bedroom wall. “No, you don’t.”

Angela whimpered with need, her fingers snaking down into Moira’s boxers and fisting around her cock. She could feel the beginnings of the knot at Moira’s base, the delicious hot _thickness_ of her as Moira throbbed in her hand.

“I need...need,” Angela murmured as Moira began her own assault of kisses, bites, and licks. Shuddering and arching into her as Moira left new marks on her skin, reacquainting herself again.

“I _know_ what you need,” Moira murmured in her ear, and Angela would swear she nearly came from that alone, her whole body throbbing in response.

“ _Yes_ , but…” Angela struggled to focus as she pushed the boxers down at last, that perfect cock springing free, ready to find its way at last. “Need to tell. Need to tell you!”

_That_ made Moira back up a bit, her rational mind still just in control enough to look at her in concern. “What is it, angel? Is something wrong?”

“Not _wrong_ ,” Angela panted. “ _Different_.” She took a deep breath, collecting herself, making herself stop stroking Moira’s lovely cock that she wanted inside of her _right now. “_ Didn’t just stop suppressors...antagonist stopped...birth control…”

“You’re not just in heat, then,” Moira murmured in realization. “You’re truly ovulating. A full estrus cycle.” Her eyes were bright with excitement, though her voice was still full of concern. “You’re sure, then?”

“I am tired of waiting for the right moment,” Angela said firmly. “I have more than enough money and time to devote to this. To us.” She met Moira’s eyes, hoping she could communicate how deeply she wanted this. “ _Five years,_ Moira. Neither of us is getting any younger.”

“That’s true,” Moira admitted as she came closer again. “But...with _me_ , lover?”

“I have only _ever_ wanted you,” Angela insisted, and pulled her into a desperate kiss.

That pushed whatever remaining hesitation Moira had away, and before Angela could catch her breath she was being slammed against the wall again, her hips rising to wrap her legs around Moira’s slim waist as Moira sunk deep into her waiting embrace.

“ _Fuck_ , Angela!”

“That,” Angela panted as she _finally_ felt herself being filled, her hips rocking against Moira’s thrusts as she helped them find a rhythm. “Was. The. Idea!”

“Oh,” Moira promised as she set her feet, “You’ll get it alright.” Her thrusts were rougher now as she found the pace they both needed, hard and deep as her lean frame could power them.

“Yessss," Angela hissed as her shoulders slammed hard into the wall. She’d have bruises tomorrow but she didn’t care. She wanted this, wanted it now, wanted more more more **more.** “Everything! Give...give me _everything,_ ” she gasped, and shuddered as Moira bit hard into her neck, marking her again as her thrust hit _just_ the right spot, and her orgasm made her gush, wet and hot all over them both.

Moira groaned as Angela’s slick coated her, her lover - her mate, _HER mate -_ shivering against her as she guided her through that first climax as well as she could. Her knot was growing heavy, fully in the grip of her rut as the smell of Angela’s sex drove her on, her hips moving of their own accord as she pushed hard into her, Angela taking every bit of it and begging for more.

“I can’t...stop myself...from knotting you,” Moira gasped and grunted into her ear. Angela nodded against her, letting out a truly pornographic moan at the thought.

“Going to cum,” Moira said, her accent turning it into a low growl. “I’m going t’ fill you up with pups!”

“ _Yes,_ Moira, please, _bitte,”_ Angela pleaded, almost swallowing the knot on her next thrust, and Moira’s cock throbbed hard inside her, desperate to do the deed.

“Yours, yours, _yours,_ ” Moira groaned as she thrust as hard and deep as she could, feeling the knot slide home as Angela’s walls clenched down on it. She kept thrusting, kept rutting, kept _moving_ as much as their joining would allow, until the pressure became unendurable, and she screamed out her pleasure as she finally came, pumping pulse after pulse of herself as Angela clung to her, vaguely aware of her walls fluttering and clenching with another climax of her own, urging more and more out of her until Moira's legs began to wobble and give out.

“Down!” Moira gasped as she pulled Angela into her, not wanting to risk dislodging herself as she brought them both onto the floor as gently as she could.

“Down,” Angela agreed, her voice blissfully exhausted as she shuddered with another aftershock of pleasure, squeezing and gripping as she worked every drop she could from the knot. “Oh, Moira...oh _süsse_ …”

“Mmm,” Moira hummed in agreement, pressing kisses to her sweat-slick forehead. “Worth the wait…?”

Angela smiled as she managed a little wriggle of her hips, making Moira gasp and shiver. “I think _that_ remains to be seen...but I am sure you’ll make it up to me.”

“We _do_ have all week,” Moira agreed. “But something tells me we’ll know for sure in...say…nine months?”

“It’s a _little_ optimistic to assume I will catch on the first attempt,” Angela said with a euphoric giggle, cuddling in as close as their bodies would allow. “But that just means we should try as much as possible while I’m here.”

Moira gave her a soft smile, one that Angela was sure most of her colleagues in Oasis and Talon would not have thought possible. “She’ll be beautiful, and brilliant.”

“Yes,” Angela agreed as she began to fade, the sound of Moira’s heartbeat against her ear luring her into a nap. “She will.”


	2. Unavailable

Everyone in Talon knew that skipping a dose of their scent blockers or suppressants was a good way to get dragged into the lab and used as a test subject, all while being subjected to a pointed lecture about social dynamics and foolish risks.

The theory Sombra had suggested one night when she thought only Reaper was around to hear was that Moira had decided at some point that if _she_ didn’t get to rut, _no one_ got to rut.

Beneath his mask, the man who had been Gabriel Reyes rolled his eyes, and said nothing. He had a much better idea of why Doctor O’Deorain was so strict about making sure everyone in Talon was on their appropriate doses, but some secrets were not his to give.

Moira’s earrings never changed: _Not disclosing, unavailable._

Plenty of her staff at Oasis wondered about that too, but it wasn’t polite to speak of such things.

_Perhaps she’d lost a loved one_ , one of the lab assistants suggested quietly at lunch one night.

_I think she must have a secret lover,_ another suggested.

The appearance of the Minister next to their table in a puff of black smoke had rather arrested the conversation. Particularly when she observed that perhaps she ought to start reviewing work assignments if they had so much time to gossip.

Moira didn’t begrudge anyone who chose to share their status openly. She didn’t even necessarily mind the ones who _did_ decide to have a bit of fun here and there, so long as they were responsible.

But she had a reputation to maintain, personally and professionally, and the knowledge that the Minister of Genetics (or, more dangerously, a leading member of Talon’s inner council) would, if unsuppressed, be reduced to a weak, needy mess until she was properly tended to was rather detrimental to that.

(She would admit that when Lacroix had somehow begun to experience heat cycles again, she had simply passed the assassin a bottle of suppressants and a package of birth control as the simplest solution, and _she_ seemed to have no issues keeping the rabble at bay.

Still, Widowmaker had earned a certain reputation for badly damaging anyone who attempted to pressure her _before_ that development, and her decision to start wearing not strictly authorized jewelry made it clear anyone who approached without her permission would suffer the consequences.)

Perhaps if, once upon a time, she had demonstrated that being an Omega did not mean she lacked for ruthlessness, it might have been different. But so many assumed from her bearing and demeanor that she was an Alpha that Moira quickly found it a useful fiction.

To a point.

She sat in her office in the Ministry, overlooking the beautiful city she’d helped to craft. A brilliant, gleaming jewel in the desert, and all she wanted was to be in a hovel of a refugee camp, two hundred kilometers across the desert.

Her head was pounding, an all too familiar drumbeat across her temples that neither caffeine or alcohol could tame.

_Most women_ , she growled to herself where no one could hear, _would have their bloody menopause by now_.

Most women hadn’t been downing suppressors like clockwork for thirty five years, either, and almost never taking the recommended breaks to allow herself a respite.

When you kept winding back your biological clock, you had to accept the frustrating reality that it would try to run longer as a result.

With a resigned sigh, she reached for a drawer of her desk she normally kept locked, and pulled out the old communicator she wasn’t technically supposed to have.

_Are you close by?_ she typed, and waited for a response.

_Yes,_ the reply came through. _I’m working in Baiji today. Training medics._

_How long?_

_Two more days._

Moira managed to keep her fingers from shaking as she typed her next message.

_I need you._

The wait for a reply seemed to stretch endlessly.

_Cancel anything you have scheduled for tomorrow afternoon._

Moira bit her lip until she tasted the coppery tang of her own blood.

_Already done._

There was another wait, but Moira distracted herself by ensuring she had her calendar cleared through the end of the week, then marked herself as taking personal leave for the following week as well.

The communicator finally buzzed again, and she nearly knocked it off the desk in her haste to grab it.

_Have a car at the airport for me. Would you like to use a hotel, or your apartment?_

_Apartment,_ Moira wrote back. She’d arrange the car electronically once she’d calmed herself down a bit. _I don’t care to risk an accident._

There wasn’t a reply, but Moira could imagine Angela sitting on a crate of supplies, or laying on the cot in her tent. The way she’d smile, reading that. The rise and fall of her chest as she laughed.

_For someone so worried about discovery,_ she would have said, _you’re not very subtle._

But subtlety had never really been Moira’s strong point, had it?

Abrasive, yes.

Forceful, certainly.

Arrogant? Perhaps.

But subtle? No.

_I’m as subtle as you are,_ a chuisle. _Really, bright golden wings and a halo?_

That little laugh, like silver bells. _“I suppose so.”_

Moira realized her fingers were slipping towards the waistband of her trousers as she began to imagine what else might follow that conversation, and stopped herself with a frustrated hiss.

If she was going to do this, she wasn’t going to risk being literally caught with her pants down.

She put the communicator away, scheduled the car to pick up “a guest of the Minister” at the airport the following day, then punched the the intercom button for her secretary.

“Yes, Minister?”

“I’m...feeling unwell,” Moira said slowly, making sure to keep her voice cool and even, no suggestion of her distress. “Have a car meet me downstairs.”

“Of course,” her secretary said with a note of what sounded like actual sympathy. “I do hope you feel better.”

Perhaps she hadn’t hid her distress as well as she’d hoped.

“Thank you,” Moira said quietly, and closed the connection before she could betray herself further.

Intellectually she knew the car that would take her home needed less than a minute to arrive, but it seemed like a much longer wait as she stood in the ministry’s foyer.

Did someone notice a sheen of sweat on her brow? Could they see the tremble in her fingers?

At least her color was _always_ pale, thanks to untold hours in the lab.

Were there eyes on her? Stares of concern? Pity? Amusement?

It was an effort of will to not run to the car when it arrived, and she kept a stiff, straight backed posture in her seat until the smoked glass partition rose, isolating her completely.

A shot of whiskey straight from the bottle did little to ease her jangling nerves, but the burn of the alcohol gave her something to focus on, grounding her as she endured the ride home.

When she reached her building, Moira was grateful to have a private elevator to her flat. She began loosening her tie and undoing the top buttons of her dress shirt as she rose, leaving a trail of clothing from her door to her master bathroom.

She stepped into an icy cold shower, gritting her teeth to keep them from chattering as she soaked herself, letting the chill seep into her bones.

Her mind was finally able to focus beyond her immediate needs when she left the shower, the fluffy warmth of her towel not enough to hold her shivering at bay as she dried off.

She’d taken her last dose of suppressants a week ago. Perhaps it had been a bad batch? It was known to happen, even here. Or perhaps her use of the biotic pack for an operation a few days ago had done something to push her system out of balance, reducing their effectiveness.

She kept a blood draw kit and a few sample tubes in the first aid kit she’d installed in the bathroom. After she’d dried herself completely, she put on a house robe and collected them, sitting at her kitchen table as she located a good vein, stuck herself, and pulled four tubes to test later. One way or the other she would have an answer, but for now…

The blister pack of antagonist capsules she kept hidden in her dresser seemed to mock her as she dug them out, the amber solution trapped inside each one catching the afternoon light.

_Giving in at last, eh?_

_Couldn’t deny your nature forever, could you?_

She broke one capsule from the pack and swallowed it, then wandered into the kitchen to wash it down with a cold glass of water.

She _wanted_ another stiff whiskey, or at least a beer, but she knew all too well that alcohol was contraindicated, and why.

Her body was going to be demanding relief all too soon. The last thing she wanted was to be hungover and nauseous, too.

What she _wanted_ to be…

Moira shivered as she remembered the last time they’d met, taking advantage of professional associations and conferences. Extending her “professional development” leave an extra three days, and spending them in a Las Vegas hotel room, paid in cash.

The only interruptions had been for food, water, and sleep - and very little of each.

The pleasant memories made her current _lack_ stand out that much more, and she made the decision to drink another glass of water, then take the heaviest dose of sleep aid she could safely tolerate.

She’d be hungry when she woke up, but ten hours of sleep was better than ten hours of restlessness as her heat took full hold of her.

Her dreams were...vivid.

Moira wasn’t surprised she woke with her hand between her legs. What should have been a pleasurable sensation as she stroked and teased herself was a pale, unfulfilling shadow of the what she _craved._  The scent of sex had filled the room, and her thighs slid against wet sheets when she moved.

She dragged herself out of bed with a frustrated groan, peeling off the sweat soaked nightshirt she’d worn and throwing it towards the hamper on her way to the bathroom.

A glance at the clock told Moira she still needed to endure several more hours, at least, before she’d have any real relief. She opened the taps on the whirlpool tub that filled the corner of the bathroom, filling it with gently steaming water.

The cold shower had worked to focus her yesterday, but it would have been agony today. Better to just soak and let the warm water relax her as much as it could.

It wasn’t nearly enough, but she wanted to believe it helped a bit, particularly once her fingers drifted down her belly again, accentuating the rhythmic pulses of the jets.

When the bath had finally cooled to the point of being uncomfortable, Moira reluctantly unfolded herself from the tub. The towel scratched and itched her skin, every nerve on edge now.

The sound of the door made her heart leap, and she hurriedly wrapped the towel around herself as she made her way to the living room.

The scent of pine and something like thyme filled her nose as she approached, and Moira never ceased to find her reaction fascinating. The tension and nerves easing, while that sense of _need_ became even sharper, twisting and pulling at her with every step towards the source of that divine aroma.

She hated how badly she wanted Angela Ziegler, even as she was relieved and grateful that she was here at last. That she’d rearranged her schedule. That she’d come to her, despite how frustratingly vulnerable and desperate she was.

Moira stopped just shy of the transition from the hallway to the living room and took a moment to collect herself as much as she could manage, then turned the corner.

“Hello,” she said in a low murmur, and couldn’t stop herself from smiling when Angela’s head snapped around at the sound of her voice.

Angela’s nose flared at the scent of her, and her face flushed. Her eyes ran over her, lingering on the towel, and after a long moment she turned back to the wall hanging she’d been examining.

“I can’t believe you hung that in your living room.”

Even though she knew Angela was doing it to distract them both, Moira huffed with offense. “It’s a beautiful piece of classical art.”

“It’s two ninjas in a tree.”

“It’s _Itachi and Sasuke_ ,” Moira corrected her, “and besides, _you_ were the one who gave it to me.”

“Yes,” Angela admitted with a little laugh. “But I expected you to put it somewhere...out of the way.”

Moira rolled her eyes as she scoffed. “I didn’t ask you to come here to critique my decorating.”

Angela’s eyes were full of amusement when she turned back. “No, you did not.” She took a few steps forward, leaving her suitcase behind. Moira swallowed hard, willing herself to remain still and not rush to her, or back away to avoid more contact.

“You’re always so afraid,” Angela murmured as she cupped her cheek, and Moira nuzzled into her palm, letting herself become drunk on her scent.

“You know I don’t enjoy losing control of...anything,” Moira murmured reluctantly. It was true, even if it wasn’t the entire truth.

She might, in the privacy of her own thoughts, admit that she cared for Angela Ziegler - perhaps even felt something like love for her. One day she might even say it aloud in a moment like this.

But she’d never be able to say that since the very first time she’d reached out to Angela, she had expected the answer would be _no_.

“I know,” Angela soothed as she stepped closer, and their first kiss in far, _far_ too long was an almost painfully gentle, chaste thing. Despite the fact she was wearing nothing but a towel, despite the fact she wanted Angela to rip it away and touch her skin, despite how much she wants, wants, _wants_.

“So,” Angela smiled up at her. “Have you lost control, _süsse?”_

It’s a joke, but Moira considers it seriously. She hasn’t, quite. But part of her very, very much wanted to.

“Seeing as I haven’t put you on the floor...” Moira said with just enough of a smile that Angela would know she wasn't being entirely serious.

Angela’s hand wrapped around hers, and when a finger stroked the inside of her wrist Moira could barely recall how to breathe. “I’d really prefer the bed, if it’s all the same to you.”

Her mouth ran away with her before her brain could do a damned thing about it. “I really wish you would, _agra._ ”

_Now_ Angela’s eyes were filled with heat, gleaming like sapphires as her smile turned hungry. “Well, then. Why don’t we stop wasting time?”

Her mouth was dry as a desert as she let Angela lead her back to her own bedroom, and she felt as if her knees were made of jelly.

The scent of her frustrations was thick in the air, and Moira watched as Angela’s nostrils flared, filling her lungs with deep breaths.

“How long?”

“A week, I think.” Moira fidgeted uncomfortably. “I suspect a bad batch of suppressants.”

Angela nodded thoughtfully as she stepped out of her shoes, then undid the cuffs of her blouse. “Did you draw labs?”  
  
“Of course,” she bit out, frustration rising with every inch of skin Angela revealed. _Why_ were they still _talking?_ “I’ve got them in the cooler. I’ll take them in to analyze...after.”

Angela chuckled, the sound traveling like snowflakes down her spine. “You’re always so thorough.”

Moira had to laugh at that, sharp and rough as she finally let the towel drop. “Someone was quite put out when I submitted work she felt was ‘insufficiently documented.’”

Angela  _stopped_ , one hand working at a button on her shirt, the other clenching so tight her delicate knuckles (surgeon’s hands - _deft_ hands) looked as if they’ve been carved from marble. “I wonder who that might have been,” she said softly, her voice sounding as she was standing at the end of a long tunnel, and then just as suddenly as she’d stopped moving, she  _started_.

The impact took her by surprise and Moira gasped in alarm before Angela’s hands found her back, rubbing and squeezing while hungry wet lips traced her skin, the weight of the shorter woman forcing her back, back, until her thighs bumped the side of the bed and she could let them both fall onto it, the mattress offering a squeak of protest.

When she looked down her body Angela was bent in worship over her, reverently kissing and caressing her bony, narrow frame. An angel offering her blessings to an all too human wretch.

Her hands slid through soft blonde locks, fingernails scratching against the scalp and the curve of her neck, dragging down Angela’s back and feeling the smooth softness of muscle beneath the shirt.

“I haven’t been able to think about anything but this since your message,” Angela murmured between kisses and sighs, punctuating her words with licks and teasing bites. Never too much, always gentle, _always_ gentle, even now.

Moira moaned under her, trying to tug the bottom of Angela’s shirt from her trousers, wanting to feel her, wanting to taste her, tired of waiting for what she needed so badly.

“Stop _teasing_ ,” she growled, and Angela smiled impishly.

“Is that what I’m doing?”

“You bloody well _know -”_

Angela’s fingers slid down to her hips, and Moira let out something distressingly close to a wail as she ground against her, the fabric of the alpha’s pants doing nothing to conceal the firmness there with every thrust.

“Shh.” Even half into her rut, her body responding hungrily to Moira’s heat and scent, Angela’s voice managed to sound comforting. “I’ve got you, Moira. I’ve got you.”

_Not yet you haven’t,_ Moira grumbled to herself even as she lifted her hips, trying to drag her closer, wanting to be filled up with her _now._ She reached for Angela, pulling herself to her, and there was a rustle as fabric finally fell to the floor.

She laughed with something like triumph as her hand brushed down Angela’s side, finally wrapping fingers around her length.

Angela’s gasps as she stroked her were all the encouragement she needed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and scooting herself as close as she could. She left a line of kisses at the side of her neck, bathing in the scent and the taste of her until she found the scar she’d left, like an artist’s signature on a canvas.

“ _Please_ ,” Moira whispered into her skin.

Angela gave a little growl as she finally entered her, and Moira couldn’t quite decide if she was feeling pleasure in that moment or simply relief.

Moira wrapped herself around Angela as best she could, wanting to feel skin on skin, their bodies moving and sliding against each other, her breath catching when Angela’s hips rolled _just right_.

Angela moaned and swore and grunted as they moved together, finding the rhythm, setting a pace. The top buttons of her shirt open, her whole body seeming to glow as she flushed.

“Moira...yes... _yes!”_

_“More_ ,” Moira begged as she felt the press of Angela’s swelling knot against her, the way her body tried to stretch to take it into her. To capture and keep her inside, to finally be _filled_ the way she craved.

Angela slowed her thrusts slightly, getting closer with each stroke. “You’re ready?”

She answered by meeting Angela’s next thrust with a roll of her own hips, pushing until she finally slid completely home, shuddering with the pleasure as her head lolled back onto the mattress.

She was _so close,_ and Angela seemed the same, throbbing hard and hot inside of her.

Moira felt hot breath on her neck an instant before the sharp burst of pain as Angela’s teeth dug into her neck, then the rush of pleasure as she started to suck hard against her freckled skin, fierce and wet and _claiming_.

She came hard, tipped over the edge, and it wasn’t long before she felt a burst of warmth as Angela’s climax came, pulsing as her walls clenched and tightened in response to help trap the knot inside of her until she’d milked every last drop from it.

Angela nearly collapsed on top of her, catching her weight on her elbows, and it took some careful maneuvering to get both of them on the bed before they gingerly rolled onto their sides, finding a comfortable position without disengaging themselves.

Moira felt satisfied for the first time in days, the aching need she’d been feeling replaced with exhaustion and a pleasant rush of endorphins. A chemical reward, she told herself, for fulfilling biology’s demands.

But the way Angela nestled against her, the way she smiled before tucking her head into her chest...those were more than just “rewards”, weren’t they.

“I can practically hear you thinking, Moira.” Angela’s voice was sleepy, but that little smile was still there.

She ought to just apologize, or close her eyes and try to sleep, but she’d never been able to resist a challenge. “Can you, now?”

“Mmhmm.” The arm Angela had slipped around her tightened just a little, enough to emphasize their closeness. “You’re thinking you don’t deserve this? Or that it’s just hormones?”

Moira could lean in just enough to brush the top of Angela’s sweaty forehead with her lips. “A bit of both,” she admitted reluctantly.

Angela’s knot wouldn't recede completely for a while yet, but it had gone down enough for her to wiggle her hips slightly, sending a ripple of pleasure through them both. “You never give yourself enough credit,” she murmured. “Don’t you think I wanted this, too?”

She hadn’t really looked at the earrings Angela had been wearing until now.

_Not disclosing, exclusively partnered._

The implications were enough to make her heart skip. “You did,” she whispered with dawning realization. “You do. More than just…”

“I always have,” Angela confirmed. “It’s been much too long, for both of us.”

“Yes,” Moira agreed softly as she kissed her again. “I suppose it has.”

They had quite a lot to talk about, after they finally got some real rest.

* * *

Between the days she’d cleared from her schedule and the vacation she’d taken, it was more than a week before Moira returned to work.

As her car left the airport’s departures lot and made it’s way to the Ministry of Genetics, she flipped through messages on her tablet, getting herself caught up on what had happened in her absence. Nothing earthshaking, but she’d become sadly familiar with how much tedium and minutiae came with her elevated position.

The encrypted messages from Talon along the same lines somehow managed to be even _more_ boring.

Still, the paperwork and the labs she needed to run on her blood samples would be a useful distraction from the flight that would be leaving for Tikrit in an hour, and the passenger on it.

Besides, she was rather looking forward to the buzz of gossip that would result once someone noticed the Minister was wearing slightly different new earrings.

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of people using earrings to communicate sexual status, orientation, and interest/availability was blatantly stolen from Lois M. Bujold's _Vorkosigan_ books. :)


End file.
